Mother Goddess
a circle of stars over
her head
hands holding white
flowers
her feet on top
of a snake
her long black hair
smooth skin
wavy eyelashes
slender fingers
virgin
pure
mother of all
in plaster of Paris
painted and revered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Little Girl With Curly Hair
there is this little girls with black curly hair
flat nose, thin eyelashes, wavy goatish eyelids,
sitting on a bamboo pole
(the common furniture there)
with bare hands and bare feet
staring at me,
for i am new here and i have a big tummy
and i am white skinned, and i have candied
inside my pockets, she knows that soon
i will throw all these candies in the air
for all the other children
but there is something strange about this
little brown girl with curly hair sitting all alone
on that bamboo chair
her father and mother were killed in the last rebellion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
gave her on her deathbed.
Old wood and plaster.
The plaster peeling from
the hands of the Crucified.
Martha gaped at Him,
at His wounds, at the wound
in His side where the spear
went in. Forgive them for
they know not. They did so,
the bastards, she muttered,
putting her fingers on the wound
in the side. She had an ebony
rosary in her skirt pocket. Black
Christ on the small ebony cross.
She fingered in her pocket, said
the prayers, felt the stiff body
on the cross. Sometimes she
took it out and kissed it; the ebony
body, the head, the arms. Once
she had a cross around her neck,
silver, small, given by some old
codger. She felt it warm between
her small breasts. Lost it when she
took it off to wash and it slipped
down the plughole in the convent bog.
She knew her mother had this wooden
crucifix on her chest of drawers.
A dark wood, a fleshy plastered Christ,
nails through and hands and feet.
She kissed the hands when her mother
was out, her lips touching the smooth
plaster, the eyes closed, the feel of
smoothness on flesh. Not the real
Christ of course. Least not yet.
She'd wait her turn. The real thing.
See what death and Heaven bring.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Likeness.....
THE MIRROR
limits what we are
there is no shadow
behind us
only the face and the likeness
of it
flat and staring
and clear.
THERE IS
another face at the back of our mind
opaque
silent
and deep
seated sockets
and wavy eyelashes
and well kept hair
and smooth skin
and glowing
WE HAVE NOT
seen much of it
But we shall always feel it
yes,
at the back of our minds
wanting
to find us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Because You Let Her Go
remember,
both of you were so young,
she had natural curls in her hair and you really like
playing with them
that summer
you had wavy eyelashes and she loved each wave
like the sea when the august winds came
some storms
coming to your love
some promises broken
like the tower of your sandcastles
that evening by the sea
falling
you were once together, remember
now, the wrinkles of your hands claim a long, lost memory
once so smooth and supple
like the cheeks of a woman
like her breasts, remember, remember.........
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint It
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they are painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and its heading into black
Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts
Its not easy facing up when your whole world is black
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I wanna see it painted, painted black, oh
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted from the sky
Painted, painted, painted black oh baby
Painted painted, painted black
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dance Of Life Is A Circle
if the dance of life is really
a circle where
we imagine a fusion of
the beginning and the end
then what are we waiting for?
do you have hands?
let us hold each other and join this dance.
forever comes inside our hearts,
you have no end
and i have no beginning
life's dance of ugliness and beauty holding hands together
of sorrow and joy, of pain and relief,
of evil and good, of black and white, of earth and sky,
of yin and yang, of male and female and those caught in between
the grip of the hands of life
to the stone, to the tree, to the sky, to an infinite space
now if you speak about a beginning and an end,
you are out of the circle. Or if you are wise enough,
You think you are inside the circle.
and the rest of the world, revolves around you.
you are in and they are out, it is still part of the circle.
sky and earth. down and up. your eyes take a look
at the stars, and the stars take a look at you.
you breathed the night air. You close your eyes.
You see what is infinite. You grasp eternity to the farthest
star that you put on top of your pointing finger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Skin Black Heart
Yeah, whatcha gonna do now, now that you started?
Whatcha gonna do now, now that its done?
The words got out there, they float around and are coming right back down.
You gonna leave us lying here
Dealing with the consequences of a bad sound
Of a bad sound.
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Whatcha gonna do now, that its spoken?
These words of a habit, have not faded away.
.................... it clear, conscious gets opened like a wound.
If you cant concieve a better line and better times,
Then let silence bury you, in the end.
When you feel it, when you feel it
Youre condemned.
You see, youve lost your strangle on the freedom road! you
Think ........................of something a long time ago! you
[spewed it out you were so] insecure! it was like ............. on
The toilet floor! youre a [nine seat] drunk, ............... and
You say you want something, .......... you heard the rednecks
Roaring for blood and then they wanted more! life was so small, you
Couldnt get enough. you made a start.
White skin black heart
Dripping,
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Drag your eyes from [aurora] black heart!
White skin black heart
Drag your leg, get outta here [my sight]!
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
You didnt have to start
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zebra Child
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My father skin is fare like a pinkish cloud.
My mother skin is dark like coco.
My skin is both swirled into a light caramel color.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My eyes are hazel with a hint of blue.
My hair is kinky yet manageable.
While I have African hips
I also have European lips.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
I relish my difference
Although some times
I envy others similarity.
But I am what I am.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
Four Woman
My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is woolly
My back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain
inflicted again and again
What do they call me
My name is AUNT SARAH
My name is Aunt Sarah
My skin is yellow
My hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong
My father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
What do they call me
My name is SAFFRONIA
My name is Saffronia
My skin is tan
My hair is fine
My hips invite you
my mouth like wine
Whose little girl am I?
Anyone who has money to buy
What do they call me
My name is SWEET THING
My name is Sweet Thing
My skin is brown
my manner is tough
I'll kill the first mother I see
my life has been too rough
I'm awfully bitter these days
because my parents were slaves
What do they call me
My name is PEACHES
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint It Black
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and theyre all painted black
With flowers and my love, both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a newborn baby it just happens evryday
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts
Its not easy facing up when your whole world is black
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not forsee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
Hmm, hmm, hmm...
I wanna see it painted black, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun, blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black
Yeah
song performed by by Face To Face
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A MAN by EMMA Z.
this is a picture of you
my man, on white brief,
masculine body, strong,
firm arms, gentle eyes
determined eyelashes,
bold fingers, drinking
a hot cup of coffee,
well cut hair, shaven face,
smooth skin, hair on the
slab of his skin, firm legs
easy on the floor, calm nipples,
peaceful on the sofa,
waiting for me.
yet i still ask for more
when he steps out of my door
i may cry a little bit
three or four tears are enough
for a decent parting
a little time for mourning
a pint of vodka to shake him off from my system
tonight, i'll make a call
another man enters my door
into my womb, my system filled with his spurts
i stoop, i kneel, i worship this man
i lick every dropp of him
and then he goes again
at dawn, fitting in his black underwear
back to his pants and polo
sliding his belt
buttoning his pants
zip his pocket
yet i ask still for more
to fill this emptiness of my being
they are all men that step in and out of my door
hinges still strong and intact
i am suspended so well between the space and the frame
i am a woman. They are just men.
I swallow and spit them all.
i vomit and swallow them all again.
this is the cycle of my
skepticism.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Casual Relationship
you ride in a bus
on a long trip to Pagadian
beside you is a woman with long black hair
pink blouse, not wearing a bra,
juicy lips, smooth skin,
perfumed
just the two of you
and it rains
heavily and the bus speeds its
way climbing steep roads
then her head rests on
your chest
she must be tired
your heart beats faster
something in your body
grows
you do not want this journey
to end
you caress her hair
she wakes up
and smiles
and then you kiss
at the terminal she rushes
to the road where a black car is waiting
she waves her hand
bidding goodbye
just that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint It Black
I see a red door and I want it painted black,
No colors anymore I want them to turn black.
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes,
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.
I see a line of cars and they're all painted black,
With flowers and my love, both never to come back.
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away,
Like a new born baby it just happens ev'ry day.
I look inside myself and see my heart is black,
I see my red door and I want it painted black.
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts,
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black.
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue,
I could not forsee this thing happening to you.
If I look hard enough into the setting sun,
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes.
I see a red door and I want it painted black,
No colors anymore I want them to turn black.
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes,
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.
I wanna see your face painted black, black as night.
Don't wanna see the sun flyin' high in the sky.
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black, yeah!
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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04 Have Scented Kiss
sharp wall’s corner
pasting half your beauty
thin contour of you lips
barely showing behind
your cascading wavy hair
shadow of your eyelashes
attenuating your eyes’ sparkle
to a soft, romantic glow
your thin shirt capturing
a full cap, descending
to a white shorts
riding beautiful flowing
leg to silver anklets
topping red stiletto heels
adoring smooth foot
and ivory nails
my love come, come
i want to see everything
as if, you’re walking on runway
you’re swaying to melody
i took your hand
i turn you around
oh! my, your hair floated
like flower bloom
you end up on my arms
as i dip you for a kiss
poem by Manonton Dalan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Women
Nina simone
My skin is black
My arms are long
My hair is wooly
My back is strong
Strong enough to take the pain
Its been inflicted again and again
What do they call me
My name is aunt sarah
My name is aunt sarah
My skin is yellow
My hair is long
Between two worlds
I do belong
My father was rich and white
He forced my mother late one night
What do they call me
My name is siffronia
My name is siffronia
My skin is tan
My hairs alright, its fine
My hips invite you
And my lips are like wine
Whose little girl am i?
Well yours if you have some money to buy
What do they call me
My name is sweet thing
My name is sweet thing
My skin is brown
And my manner is tough
Ill kill the first mother I see
Cos my life has been too rough
Im awfully bitter these days
Because my parents were slaves
What do they call me
My
Name
Is
Peaches
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mountain And The Snake
a long black yellow snake with stripes
arrives hissing
looking for a prey
a rat perhaps
but there is none
not even an ant for a snack
and so the long black yellow snake with stripes of green
slides its way to a dark, moist cave
tight on its door
pushing its long slimy body
to the tip of the
cave's orifice to the end of its
intestine
it was a good tickle
and the whole body of the mountain
gives a tremble
a moan and from the slits of its sides
to the tip of its feet
and toes and trees
the whole body of the mountain
moans
happy with the long slimy body of the
snake's skin and bone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Girl I Love She Got Long Black Wavy Hair
Whoah, the girl I love, she got long black wavy hair
I do declare!
The girl I love, yeah, she got long black wavy hair,
Ah yeah,
Her mother and her father, lordy,
They sure dont, sure dont allow me there.
Well i, Im goin back to my baby, lord i,
I swear I wouldnt lie, yeah
I never saw that sweet woman yeah in-a
A-five long years gone by, yeah.
Well Im goin ho__me, Im goin home
cause shes a sweet little darlin, ah
I said I been away, ahh-far too long,
I been away too long.
Take it jimmy!
Well, my baby when...
She shakes just like a willow tree,
Yes she does.
My baby, when she walks, ya know
She shakes like a willow tree, yeah.
Ah-that mean, mistreatin baby she know she
Hop, hops all over me.
Oooh.
Yeah!
Alright!
Hops over me...
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Crowning Glory
Jet black hair, like rain.
So smooth, and smells so pleasant.
Gently touch my skin.
Your crowning glory,
Dance and sway in the sweet breeze...
Caught my attention.
I reach for your hair,
Play it between my fingers.
The fragrance lingers.
Babe, I love your hair
And I love you very much.
Today and always.
poem by Joan Wu Lang Pacinabo
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65
My hands holding some shadows
On white laces and flowing
Whiteness of dress
You walk towards a breezy
Shore on some dreams
Your black long hair flowing
Blown against your direction
Your soft hands touch your face
In disbelief
Why this sadness must come and
Happen and linger
In your almond eyes
Sadness like the night
Hovers you except for a surprise
You hum our song
From your heart
And though faraway I will always
Be there
My hands holding some shadows
To comfort you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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